I bent down to pick up the severed hand from the ground. It was unmistakably Ah Xiang’s right hand, cut clean off at the wrist. The jagged edges of the stump showed clear tooth marks, evidence of a massive bite. Since only Shirley Yang had flares, they must have been together. They must have encountered some savage beast and were forced to retreat into the mouth of the dormant volcano to seek help.

Fatty then hauled the exhausted Uncle Ming up from the slope, and just as they arrived, a crimson fire lizard emerged from the top of the conical mountain, its tongue flicking out a good foot long. It retained ancient traits from the post-glacial era, sporting several rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Fatty and I immediately drew our guns and opened fire. A chaotic barrage struck the lizard, its body recoiling from the impact of the bullets. However, its hide was only slightly less tough than the 'Mottled Jiao,' so while our light arms could wound it, they weren't fatal. Fatty fumbled in his pack, pulled out a set of three pull-ignited blasting caps, and hurled them like grenades at the creature.

Having been repeatedly hit by bullets, the fire lizard intended to retreat, but seeing the rain of fire cease, it charged forward again. The blasting caps Fatty threw landed squarely on its head, rebounding briefly before thudding onto the ground. Its forward momentum unchecked, it promptly charged right over the caps.

Because the encounter happened so suddenly and at such close range near the crater, and because the pull-ignited caps detonated instantly—those caps used for blasting the stone door were quite powerful—an explosion at this proximity risked mutual annihilation. I quickly slammed Uncle Ming down. A deafening roar sounded directly overhead. The blast wave lifted the fire lizard into the air, sending numerous fragments of rock pelting against us. Luckily, our climbing helmets protected our vital heads, but the exposed skin on our arms was scored with several cuts.

As the acrid smell of cordite dissipated, I looked up at the fire lizard. It lay twitching some fifteen meters away, its insides spilled out from the explosion. I was just about to tell Fatty that if he wanted to emulate Dong Cunrui, that was fine, but he should try to keep a safe distance from the rest of us and not drag us along to be his human shields.

But at that moment, I noticed Uncle Ming staring blankly at Ah Xiang's severed hand. A cold dread settled in my heart. I didn't know how to comfort him. From what I knew, a severed limb could potentially be reattached if surgery was performed quickly. But in this isolated environment, surgery was impossible. Moreover, this was a ragged tear, not a clean cut, making reattachment out of the question. We didn't even know if she was still alive.

Uncle Ming was stunned for a long while before asking me, "This... this is my goddaughter's hand?" Without waiting for an answer, he hung his head, his face etched with utter dejection, seemingly heartbroken, yet deeply self-reproachful—a mixture of expressions and emotions.

Fatty had also seen the severed hand and merely pursed his lips at me. I understood his look: what were they supposed to do about Uncle Ming? I waved him off. The more you try to console him now, the sadder he’ll get. Let’s just say nothing and focus on getting Uncle Ming up the mountain.

So, Fatty and I each took an arm, dragging him between us like a dead dog toward the summit of the conical mountain. Near the crater rim, there was an abundance of black volcanic sand. It takes millions of years for volcanic rock to weather from grey-white to black and form crystalline sand. A dormant volcano is, in essence, a corpse of nature. Walking upon it, physically touching those ancient, massive geological changes, evoked an ineffable feeling in me. I even felt a strange dread approaching the last few steps to the crater, constantly worried that we would find their bodies inside the volcano’s belly.

But even the longest road has an end; reaching the summit meant facing reality. The crater was much smaller than I had imagined. Years of erosion had caused a significant collapse of the opening. The remaining hole was about the size of a large factory smokestack—no wonder that fire lizard couldn't climb in. Looking down, I saw a faint green glow below—a light we knew well, emanating from fluorescent tubes. I shouted down several times, and without waiting for a reply, I began to climb down.

Inside the inverted cone of the dormant volcano, there were structures built like wells, made of stone and black wood, possibly pathways for priests. They were stacked from the bottom all the way to the top. Though the wood was rotten, the massive square stones remained solid. I scrambled down to the base in moments and saw Shirley Yang cradling Ah Xiang in a corner. Seeing that they were alive, my pounding heart finally began to steady itself.

Shirley Yang had applied emergency treatment to Ah Xiang's severed wrist. I asked Shirley Yang if she was injured and how serious Ah Xiang’s condition was.

Shirley Yang shook her head at me. She was fine, but Ah Xiang’s situation was dire. The fierce battle between the 'White-Bearded Fish King' and the 'Mottled Jiao' in the underwater temple had cracked the floor, causing all the water from the wind-eroded lake to flood into the subterranean area. Shirley Yang was swept by the surging torrent into the first-level underground lake. Just as she surfaced for air, she saw Ah Xiang washed past her. She reached out to pull her, but the current dragged them both into the second underground lake. Before they could reach shore, they encountered the 'Inglmnden' in the water. Ah Xiang’s hand was bitten, and she was dragged toward a volcanic island in the lake. Shirley Yang pursued and managed to save Ah Xiang with close-range fire. Having run out of ammunition, they retreated to the crater atop the mountain. Only then did they realize Ah Xiang's hand had been bitten off at some unknown point. Shirley Yang hastily bandaged it, but without medicine, she couldn't fully stop the bleeding, leaving her helpless. Only after stabilizing Ah Xiang did she remember to fire the signal flares for help.

At this point, Uncle Ming and Fatty also descended. Seeing everyone alive, Fatty took the paratrooper knife in his mouth and climbed back up, intending to slice off some lizard meat to roast and eat, as the hunger was becoming unbearable.

Uncle Ming saw Ah Xiang’s injury and went pale with fright. He turned to me and pleaded, “Brother Hu, you can’t abandon her just because she’s lost a hand. Medical science is advanced now. Back home, you can fit her with a prosthetic hand, and wearing a glove, no one will notice. She can certainly still bear you a son...”

I told Uncle Ming, “Even when her hand was intact, I never agreed to marry her. Haven’t I made my stance clear? I am vehemently opposed to arranged marriages. My own parents can’t sway me on this; you bringing it up now makes it seem like I’m disgusted by her missing hand. I’ll state it one more time: even if Ah Xiang had three hands, I wouldn't marry her. The number of hands she has is irrelevant to me.”

Uncle Ming insisted, “Oh, stop deflecting! When you’re in the mountains, you chop wood; when you’re in the city, you do city things. Go to Hong Kong and date for a while; that won’t be an arranged marriage. Since you don’t mind her hand, are you perhaps saying she isn’t pretty enough?”

Shirley Yang looked somewhat annoyed, her brow slightly furrowed. “What time is this for arguing about such things? Don’t you ever consider how Ah Xiang feels? In your eyes, is she just a bargaining chip in a deal? Don’t forget, she has an independent consciousness just like you—she experiences joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness... Hurry up and figure out how to treat her wound; if the infection worsens, she might not last the day.”

Both Uncle Ming and I were chastised by Shirley Yang and had no retort. Though we knew saving her was paramount, controlling such a severe wound in this environment, lacking medicine, was easier said than done. Shirley Yang had already tied off Ah Xiang’s arm tightly with a rope, temporarily restricting blood flow. But this was a last resort; if left too long, the arm would be lost anyway.

I was at a complete loss, pacing back and forth in agitation. My eyes fell upon the rucksack Fatty had left on the ground when he came down. A thought sparked in my mind—a lifeline at last. Just then, Fatty returned, having managed to secure several large slabs of lizard meat. I thought to myself that these two Italians, Fatty and Uncle Ming, were more trouble than help. I sent them off to prepare something for everyone to eat, leaving Shirley Yang and me to tend to Ah Xiang.

Shirley Yang removed the bandage from Ah Xiang’s wrist. Since we had no alcohol, I improvised by taking apart a bullet and cauterizing the wound briefly with the gunpowder. Then, I retrieved the pieces of shed tortoise shell from Fatty’s bag, crushed a portion of it, mixed it with clean water, and applied it to the wound, sealing it with adhesive tape and wrapping it again with gauze.

Shirley Yang asked if this stuff could really heal wounds. I told her that was what Uncle Ming claimed. Old tortoises that shed their shells possess a certain spiritual quality and never stray far from their discarded shells, often licking them with their saliva. Therefore, the shell could be used medicinally to detoxify, dissolve stasis, and promote tissue regeneration and stop bleeding. Whether his goddaughter lived or died now depended on whether Uncle Ming’s assessment was accurate. If this substance lacked the miraculous efficacy he claimed, we were powerless to do more. Though not a directly fatal injury, Ah Xiang was frail, and without painkillers, the agony alone could kill her.

Ah Xiang, having just endured the searing gunpowder, woke from her stupor and began to cry softly from the pain. I comforted her, “The pain means the wound is healing, it’s not a catastrophe to lose a hand. People have two hands, after all. Several of my comrades stepped on anti-personnel mines—those cruel mines designed to maim rather than kill, turning the wounded into a burden for the enemy. But after their injuries, they still returned home, attended commendation ceremonies, moved countless people, and got married. Nothing was truly delayed.”

After babbling a few nonsensical reassurances to Ah Xiang, I sat down to rest and took stock of the terrain. The dormant volcano was natural, but ancient inhabitants had clearly modified it. The space below was considerable. Where we stood, the central area resembled a stone well structure, but with a stone doorway. The area narrowed toward the periphery. The drop from the base to the well opening above wasn't vast. Although the dormant volcano lay beneath the underground lake, the interior was surprisingly dry, showing no signs of seepage.

Fatty built a fire and was roasting the fire lizard, skin, flesh, and all. In the flickering firelight, I noticed the stone walls were engraved with many primitive symbols, resembling scattered constellations. One depiction of the Orion Nebula, set against the backdrop of a five-clawed beast motif, pointed directly east. Shirley Yang had once told me that this symbol appeared on the Biblical map; the true Eye Altar of the 'City of Erolai' must lie somewhere to the east, not far from here. In the chanting poetry of the World-Conquering Pearl King, this place was called 'Magaman Nindun,' meaning 'The Mountain Where Black Heavens Strike Thunder.' 'Black Heaven' was a demon legendarily believed to control ores.

I tried to confirm this with Shirley Yang, asking if this was the 'Thunder Strike Mountain.' The moment the words left my mouth, Uncle Ming cried out, "Ouch!" Fatty asked him why he was suddenly alarmed.

Uncle Ming’s face drained of color—even when he saw Ah Xiang's severed hand, he hadn't looked this ashen. Pressed for an explanation, we learned that Uncle Ming was intensely superstitious, particularly about the readings of one's fate based on birth characters. His real name was 'Lei Xianming' (, where 'Lei' means thunder). Hearing the place called 'Thunder Strike Mountain' felt like a direct threat to him.

Fatty and I were unimpressed and took the opportunity to mock him for being overly dramatic. Uncle Ming, however, stated solemnly, “You young people shouldn't dismiss these things. A person’s name, at the smallest level, dictates fortune and misfortune; at the grandest level, it determines life and death.”

Seeing our skepticism, Uncle Ming continued, “The incident at Luofeng Slope is too far back, let’s not talk about it. You all know Dai Li, the head of the Military Intelligence Bureau? A major figure in the KMT. When he was young, he had his fortune told. The reading indicated a predominance of fire energy, requiring the balance of water energy. So, he had someone give him the alias Jiang Han Jin ()—all three characters feature the water radical. That’s why his career soared!”

I retorted, “Yes, he soared, but didn’t soar well—he ended up crashing a plane and dying. What good did changing his name do? Just stop worrying about this.”

Uncle Ming insisted, “No, no, you only know half the story. Dai Li used many aliases because the Military Intelligence Bureau deals in espionage and needs false names for contact. He used names like Hong Sen, Shen Peilin, and so on. Even his code names had to contain water. Isn’t that spooky? But the day he crashed his plane, for some inexplicable reason, he insisted on using the name ‘Gao Chongyue’—seeing mountain but no water, violating a major taboo. As a result, the plane crashed into a mountain. The recovery team found out the mountain the plane hit was called ‘Dai Mountain,’ and the gully where the wreckage fell was named ‘Kun Yu Gou’ (Trapped Rain Gully)—clearly a gateway to death meant for him. So, these things are truly better believed than dismissed.”

Fatty cut in, “Wait, wait, stop your lecture. How do you know so much about the head of the KMT secret service? What exactly are you? Confess now, or we’ll deal with you severely.”

Uncle Ming quickly explained that he had no connection to Dai Li. He’d heard these anecdotes from fortune tellers while doing business years ago, but later investigated and found every word to be true, which is why he believed so strongly. There were countless such examples. “If you don't believe me, we should leave immediately, or we’ll leave our old lives here!”

I told Uncle Ming, “You’ve seen the whole journey so far. There’s nowhere else to go underground! We only have the option of following the tunnel east of the dead volcano, hoping there’s a back door near the altar. But we can’t move until we eat something and rest a bit. We can’t go anywhere right now.”

Uncle Ming felt they couldn't stay in this mountain anyway and was restless, desperate to leave immediately. He went to the eastern stone door and peered through a crack. But after just a few glances, he recoiled as if seeing something terrifying, slamming the door shut and pressing his back tightly against it. Sweat beads the size of soybeans broke out on his forehead. He gasped, “There’s someone... someone behind the door. A liv—a living one.”